Dry Spell
by Kerrison
Summary: Spoilers for "Knockout." Tony finally pulls his head out of you-know-where.
1. Chapter 1

He stood out side her door, steeling his nerves before his hand raised and knocked on the wood.

It was only a moment before the door swung open, revealing a dark haired beauty wrapped in a large bath towel.

Tony blinked, clearly surprised, though not unpleasantly so.

"Do you always answer your door dressed like that?"

Ziva felt her lips curl into a small smirk. "It depends who is on the other side of the door."

There was a feeling he had been missing over the last few months licking ever so slowly at his heels. If he concentrated hard enough, he thought he could remember the name … what was that feeling?

_Confidence._

Her gentle flirting, if only a sentence, gave him a drop of confidence. And it was a drop in a very empty bucket!

"Did you come over to comment on my clothes?" she asked, leaning against the door slightly as she held it open.

"Uh, no," he said, a sardonic laugh prefacing his words. "But it looks like you're about to turn in for the night so... I can just come back another time," Tony said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb before starting to turn away.

Her hand reached out and gently grabbed his forearm. "Come in. I will put on a robe."

Tony nodded, stepping inside and letting the door shut behind him as she slipped down the hall in her apartment and ducked into her room.

He scanned the apartment, sparsely furnished, but elegant none the less. An upright piano was tucked against a wall. A large dining table took up a good portion of the living room, the apartment obviously not designed to accommodate the large dinner parties she liked to host. However, her lack of television certainly allowed the furnishings to feel balanced.

She had a few photos – recently taken - of the team. His eyes scanned over the colorful images. A shot taken before she left for Mossad of "her men" as she had teased, winking at them. McGee and DiNozzo flanked Gibbs, his trademark coffee held in his hands. Tony had wanted a copy of his own but had never had the nerve to ask for one. Another photo, Abby and Ziva with their heads thrown back with laughter – a candid taken by Palmer when McGee had managed to get a can of slime-like goo all over himself.

The final photo caught him off guard and without being aware of his movements, he felt himself lift the frame and regard the image.

The more he looked at it, the more he felt as if someone had sucker punched him. And the drop of confidence he felt earlier now evaporated in a puff.

It was the same photo from her desk months before. One he had, for some stupid hopeful reason had thought she had thrown away. Or burned. Or tossed out a window. He didn't care; he just hoped she didn't have it anymore.

Tony startled when he heard her clear her throat. His gaze snapped away from the photo and to her face and he saw something that, had he been more aware and less self-pitying, he would have identified as guilt, cross her features.

"I, um," he started, looking down at the photo again and finding a self-deprecating chuckle burst forth. "Heh. Ya know, I had this great chat with Tara today."

"In the elevator," she supplied, her arms folding across her chest. "I saw. It looked … _great_."

He didn't even notice the jealousy that had crept through her accent. Nor did he pick up on her innuendo. The right words had filled his head, finally, and he plowed forth.

"So she has the best woman's intuition I've ever seen. I mean, you're ninja skills are not to be trifled with, Ziva, but this girl was **on **when it came to reading men. She's a black belt at it, you know?" He didn't even glance up, still glaring at the photo. "So we got to talking about these dates that I had been on recently," he continued, glossing over part of their conversation. "And how it just hasn't been right lately. I mean, I'm the king of dates, Ziva. This is not something I've ever really had to work at. Its always been easy. But not lately, you know? I'm off my game."

Tony paused and his eyes flicked up to her, finding her gazing at him with unabashed surprise.

"So Tara tells me that the cure to this was to find the right woman. And then suddenly it would all make sense. I wouldn't have to 'try' anymore. It would just feel right."

It was clear that he had never been this honest with her and she was not expecting the flood of words.

Yet he plowed on.

"When I got home tonight, I just kept hearing those words: 'right woman.' Over and over. I really wished Gibbs were around to give me a good whack on the head and make the record stop skipping," he paused to catch his breath, his voice now almost reverent. "But, the weird thing was that no matter how many times I heard the words 'the right woman,' there was only one person who came to mind."

Tony regarded the photo in his hand one more time. The muscled man on the picture gazed back at him. And for the first time in his life, Tony felt as if he couldn't win the girl.

He shifted and set the photo back on top of the piano, in its place of honor next to her photos of the NCIS family.

"I guess I just didn't realize it soon enough. And someone else got the right woman before I pulled my head out of my ass."

Ziva's hand covered her mouth in a very out of character gesture of emotion. Tony barely registered the tears welling in her eyes. He took a step towards her, cupped her cheek with his hand and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Make sure he treats you right. You deserve it," he said softly, turning and heading out of the apartment, not stopping as her door clicked softly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

She stood at the large picture window, gazing out into the dark city sky. A gentle mist had settled over DC and left a humid haze to the atmosphere.

Ironically enough, the dank outlook matched her mood.

Ziva reached up and pulled her hair out of its braid, fluffing her unruly curls. It had been pulled back all day and her scalp had started to hurt hours ago; it was time to take it down for the night- even if it did look like they were going to pull a double and she'd have to pull it back again the minute they left the building.

_Oh well. That is why I have a baseball cap, s_he thought as she slid the elastic band over her wrist for safe keeping.

She replayed the day in her mind in short snippets of the most vital momments.

Oddly enough, none of them involved the case they were currently working on.

Instead, she thought of every conversation she had with Tony today. And all of them were filled with tension and venom.

It had been a day full of pointless bickering.

And plenty of Gibbs-slaps to the head for them both.

And the last round of sniping had escalated into a full out shouting match in the middle of Abby's lab. She and Tony had stood toe to toe in the lab hurling insults in a tone so far from the normally teasing and jovial manner they usually used.

Abby had retreated to her desk, Burt held protectively to her chest in a defensive posture.

And McGee had shocked them all. Instead of meekly hiding or retreating right alongside Abby behind the glass partition, he had stepped between herself and Tony and pried them apart with firm hands to their chests.

She could still hear his firm words as he struggled to top their shouts.

"KNOCK IT OFF!" He had shouted, shoving them away from each other and effectively putting himself in the line of fire had either of them decided to start swinging, shooting, or hurling available projectiles. "I don't know what's gotten into you two today, but you're freakin' unbearable!"

Ziva remembered here chest to have been heaving with anger and frustration as her next round of insults died in her throat.

She couldn't look at Tony's eyes while McGee's scolding continued.

"You can't even be in the same room for thirty seconds without trying to annihilate each other!" McGee had continued. "I hate to say it but I'd rather deal with you guys playing grab-ass all day than deal with the screaming. Either kill each other or sleep together – but pick one so the rest of us don't have to duck-and-cover every time you guys are forced to be in the same room!"

McGee had turned and headed to Abby's side, pulling the pouting scientist into a reassuring hug before they slowly resumed their work from her desk computer.

She and Tony had merely exchanged an abashed glance before she had turned on her heels and hit the stairs at a full run, putting as much distance between herself and Tony as their jobs would permit.

That had been hours ago. And she hadn't seen him since.

Gibbs was out with Vance working through the high command at Langley Airforce Base. Tim and Abby were still in the lab cycling through the evidence, desperately waiting for something to 'click' and provide them with a stable lead on the Commander's wife's kidnapping.

Ziva blinked and ran her hand across her eyes before crossing her arms again across her chest and allowing her gaze to settle back over the city skyline.

She felt his presence behind her before he said a word, before he made a sound. Having worked with the team for this long, she had honed her … _what did Tony call them? Spidey-senses? _She had learned the feel of her teammates nearby so she would be sure to not shoot them. Accidentally, that is. There were still days she had to remind herself not to shoot them intentionally.

He cleared his throat, knowing better than to startle her when she wasn't expecting someone to walk up behind her. Her ninja-skills had come close to knocking him out enough times that his lesson was well and truly learned.

She turned and regarded him with an abashed smile and was rewarded when he offered her a small, sad smile in return and extended his hand with her coffee mug in it.

"Tea?" he managed to offer. "Its the herbal one that I got you for Chanukah. You said you liked it, right?"

She nodded and breathed in the aromatic steam from the mug. "I do. Very much," she replied. "Thank you."

He nodded and stood at her side, both gazing out and taking in the beautiful city view.

"I owe you an apology, Ziva," he started.

"No," she quickly cut in, glad he had been stronger than she – strong enough to break the ice and be the first to apologize. "I am at fault. I should apologize."

Tony turned and politely held up a hand to stall her words. "No. Ziva, this is... I've been an ass. IF you could just let me say this, I'd really appreciate it," he said, his tone sounding foreign to her. This was not the voice that she usually associated with Tony. There was no joviality. There was no wit.

She nodded once, sipped her tea and forced herself to remain silent while he cleared his throat and shifted his eyes nervously before finally speaking.

"So the other night I really had no reason to unload all my emotional baggage at your feet," he said referring to his impromptu visit to her apartment and subsequent discussion of feelings. "But I did. And there's no way to take it back – not that I want to!" he added quickly. "I meant it, Zi. I just didn't really need to dump it on you. Unrequited feelings are my issue, not yours. You don't need to deal with it."

Ziva felt herself start to speak but one look at his face halted her words and she closed her mouth, and allowed him to continue.

"I saw the package on your desk this morning when I came in. And I know it was unprofessional of me to see who had airmailed you a package...but you know curiosity gets the better of me every time," he managed a small sad chuckle at his own weakness. "I, uh, saw the return address was Israel. And then when you came in and saw the package and your face just lit up, Zi. I wish you could have seen how beautiful you look when you're that happy..."

Tony paused and realized he had overstepped the conversational bounds. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I- uh. Yeah. Sorry," he stuttered before continuing. "Anyway I guess my ego got bruised and I turned into a raging jerk. I hate the fact that someone else gets to make you that happy. I hate that I missed my chance- assuming I had one to begin with. And I took any opportunity I had to make you as miserable as I am. I said some really shitty things, Ziva."

She watched as he looked down at his feet, his entire posture defeated and full of regret. Ziva longed to reach over and comfort him with a touch, a word, anything that would make him appear less miserable. But he cleared his throat and looked up, breaking her out of her reverie and she gripped her mug firmly, keeping her hands to herself as he continued to speak.

"I'm really sorry for everything I said. And I'm really sorry for taking it out on you," he said.

Ziva couldn't help but notice how his words and demeanor had matured over the years. No way would she have gotten this conversation three years ago.

She smiled softly as she began to speak, finally knowing it was her turn to contribute to the apologies for the day. "Tony I-"

Before she could finish her thought, never mind her sentence, Gibb's voice bellowed across the squad room.

"Gear up! We're heading to Quantico."

They spared a small grin for each other at the unfortunate timing and Ziva touched his arm quickly, an unspoken promise of finishing the conversation later.


	3. Chapter 3

Chasing the suspect in new designer loafers across slick grass had been a bad plan.

Pushing on when he felt the first twinges in his bum knee had been an even worse plan.

Sliding across the dewy ground while shooting the perp mere seconds before Ziva would have had a bullet hole in her shoulder – epically bad plan for infinitely good reasons.

Ziva was bullet-hole free. This was good.

His knee, however, now screamed in pain, reminding Tony that he was creeping up on forty quicker than he cared to admit, and his previous injuries needed a little more respect.

The suspect was back at NCIS headquarters with Gibbs breathing down the guy's neck and Ziva and McGee watching through the glass window.

Tony was sprawled on his couch, ice on his swollen knee, and on medical leave for the next two days – minimum. The doctor was supposed to call him as soon as the MRI results were examined more closely. Either way, he'd be on desk duty for at least a month; at least that is how long his physical therapy prescription had been for.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the arm of the couch. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was time to look at other options for his career.

He loved his job. He loved working with Gibbs. Hell, he loved the Probie, he'd just never admit it. Abs was unbelievable and absolutely impossible not to love. And Ziva-- well... she had Rivkin and a box of 500 paperclips which would keep her well defended for years to come. She obviously didn't need him.

How many possible deaths was that? Eighteen different ways times 500 paperclips equals... 9000 deaths.

Is that how many nights it would take before he stopped feeling as if an elephant stood on his heart when he thought of her and Rivkin?

Perhaps it was just better to move on.

A new team. One without an incredibly lovable Israeli assassin on it.

A new job. One that required less running on slippery grass.

Both items would be 'must-haves' in his next job.

Tomorrow he'd grab his very dusty resume and-

He heard his doorknob turn and his head snapped up and he watched as a very tired Israeli assassin walked into his apartment as if she belonged there. The smell of his favorite Peruvian Restaurant wafted in with her.

"I hope you have not eaten," she said simply, shutting the door behind herself and managing to juggle her backpack, the food, and a six pack of beer.

"No," he said gently. "I was kinda busy with the whole hospital and bed-rest thing."

"I thought so," she called, having made her way into the kitchen.

Tony heard her pulling down dishes and he heard the distinctive clink of bottle caps as she flipped the tops off the beers.

"Do you mind that I came by?" she asked, her voice soft as she came around to the sofa, plates of food balanced along one arm and two beers in the other.

Tony shifted and liberated one of the plates from her. "Nope," he said. "I'm just shocked you decided to pick my lock."

"You haven't given me a key," she simply replied. "And I was not going to make you get up!"

He watched her settle into the armchair and set the two beers on the end table between them. "Ceviche and rice and salad," he said, regarding her very healthy plate. "Looks good!"

Tony looked at his own serving of grilled white-fish and rice and salad and smiled. They had only been to the restaurant once, but she had remembered his favorite meal. _And you wondered why you fell for her._ He thought to himself. "Thanks for dinner."

"It seemed like a small thing to do for the man who made sure I do not have any bullet holes at the end of the day."

"All in a day's work, ma'am," he said in his best John Wayne drawl, managing to earn a small smirk from Ziva – who was quickly becoming a movie aficionado under his tutelage.

They ate quietly, Tony barely touching his beer, knowing that it wouldn't mix well with his painkillers for his knee.

"When do you find out about the knee?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the meal.

"Maybe tomorrow."

"What will you do if ..." she couldn't speak the words.

Tony shrugged. "Find a desk job somewhere, I guess. Working cold-cases or something that requires less running."

"You will hate that," Ziva said simply.

"Yeah," he said. "I will. I enjoy the field work."

"I will hate it too," she whispered. "I do not want to be there if you are not there."

"Ziva-"

"Its true."

Tony sighed and mentally smacked himself for not chugging the beer earlier- it would have made him completely stoned and this conversation would have been much easier.

"What are your plans with Rivk-- with Michael?" He stopped himself, trying to be courteous and use Rivkin's given name in a show of respect.

"I do not have any," she said simply. "We are not... exclusive."

Tony's face was the picture of confusion.

Ziva sighed, feeling his gaze on her face. She pushed the remains of her dinner around on her plate, avoiding his eyes. "He would like to be but... I cannot."

He bit his tongue hard to keep the slew of questions from pouring forth.

"He's a nice man," she said. "I have known him for many years and he is a good partner. He does his best to protect me in the field."

Tony couldn't help but snicker. "Seriously? Ziva, I can count on one hand in the last five years the number of times **I **have had to protect **you.** Usually its the other way around."

She conceded the point with a smirk and a tilt of her head. "He thinks it is his job to keep me from getting dirty," she said with a chuckle.

"You _like _getting dirty," Tony said, unable to control the chuckle. "How long has he known you?"

Ziva felt herself smile in return. "Long enough to understand why I can't give him what he wants," she said gently.

"Which is...?"

She stood, gently taking his plate from his hand and taking their empty dirty dishes to the kitchen.

He heard the gentle rustle of the dishes being set into the sink, followed the sound of a zipper being opened on what he assumed was her backpack.

When she came back to the living room, instead of settling back into the chair, she settled down at his side on the sofa, a large leather bound book in her hands.

"The other night when you came by, I called my father," she said, effectively changing the subject. "I asked him to send my mother's photo album over. I had left it there when I thought my time here would be brief but," she paused, her fingers tracing the cover with a reverence Tony had never seen before. "I would like to stay here – as long as I can. So I think it is time to start putting down roots. And having my family's album seemed like the right way to do that."

She slid the book over so it rested between them and she slowly cracked the cover. "It was delivered this morning. This is what the package was that made me smile," she explained.

Tony shifted his knee so they could both better balance the book on their legs. His arm on the back of the sofa, draped around her shoulder delicately, in a completely unintentional protective embrace.

He listened as she pointed to picture after picture, explaining who each person was, where the photo was taken.

He listened as her voice broke when she pointed to the picture of Tali.

And he listened, completely unsurprised, as she pointed to Ari. His hand slipped off the sofa and down to her shoulder, squeezing gently and offering her as much comfort and reassurance as he could through her lost family- her lost youth.

She reached a picture of her in her late teens, a hardened look in her eye of one who has seen too much death and known too much suffering. A taller dark haired young man stood at her side. Their arms were crossed over their chests. On her other side, her father stood, beaming with pride at what Ziva explained was his 'prized team of assassins.'

Rivkin.

"I have known him since I was very young, Tony," she said. "He would like very much for me to move back to Israel and spend my life as his wife."

Tony nodded, making no comment. The only words he longed to speak would be neither helpful nor appropriate so he thought at this moment silence really was golden.

Ziva sighed. "This summer, when you were on the ship and you did not call, I felt as if it was your way of telling me that you did not need me. I did not think I was ever coming back home – here," she said, clearly stating that NCIS was home, not Mossad. "I thought perhaps Michael would be my only chance for a good life with a man who cared about me."

"Zi," he said softly, his free hand scrubbing his face, trying to clear his mind of the regret and frustration.

Ziva shook her head, forestalling his words. "But I do not want to settle for _any_ man just because the right one isn't available."

She closed the photo album and set it gently on the coffee table.

"I called Michael yesterday morning," she said, her hand toying with the icepack on his knee. "I told him that he would be better off with a woman who loved him as much as he deserves." Ziva chuckled softly. "Do you know what he said to me?"

He shook his head in reply.

"He said the same thing you did - 'Make sure he treats you right. You deserve it,'" she said and managed to meet his eyes.

"You deserve the best," he said, his hand gently cupping her cheek.

She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, feeling his hand slide around to the back of her head, trying to draw the kiss out as long as possible.

The joy of kissing him out of pure desire, not because it was their job, made the taste of his lips all the sweeter. The fact that she could kiss him and there was no Jeanne, there was no Michael, made the passion richer.

She pulled away and forced herself not to return for more. Ziva placed a gentle hand on his chest as she sat back. His hands tangled in her hair, slowly released their affectionate grip and she felt her curls start to cascade down her back again.

"When my knee's better, we can go out to dinner and dancing," he said, his voice thick.

"Or we could stay right here and watch a movie," she said. "You do not have to wine and dine me, Tony."

"Maybe I want to. And maybe I want to show you off a little," he admitted with a wink, still playing with the very ends of her hair in his fingers. "I want you to have the best, Zi."

"I will have the best," she said, smirking as the mischevious glint returned to her eye. "I have a best friend, the best partner and I'm sure I will also have the best lover, too. But your knee has to get better for that, too."

"I think this is the first time I've ever been eager to go to physical therapy," Tony groaned.


End file.
